In the Garden
by sinemoras09
Summary: Whore and monk, we sleep under one roof together, moon in a field of clover. Adam's time in Primatech. Gen. Angst. No spoilers.


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_Whore and monk, we sleep / under one roof together, / moon in a field of clove_r

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1.

"I don't suppose you play chess, do you?"

Hank fiddles with the catheter, unnerved. Earlier, the Company ordered for radioactive isotopes to be given to Adam intravenously: they wanted to see how quickly it gets cleared from his body. Hank pushes up Adam's hospital gown, exposing Adam's genitals; he pulls Adam's penis up with one hand and swabs it with iodine. Adam is nonplussed. He keeps talking, his eyes fixed on the ceiling.

"Chess is a thinking man's game, you know," Adam says. "There's quite a bit of strategy involved. Of course, there's strategy in just about anything-Chinese checkers, for instance-but chess. Chess is an art."

"You're going to feel some pressure," Hank says, and he starts threading the catheter into Adam's urethra. The catheter jams; Hank pushes but the catheter doesn't advance. He pulls the catheter out, sees blood at the tip.

"Oh, fuck me," Adam says. He pulls his gown back down. "Is it my prostate again?"

"I'm afraid so," Hank says. He tosses the catheter on the tray. "We're going to have to get the coudé-"

"You mean the sharp pointy thing?" Adam asks.

Hank's mouth thins. "Sorry," Hank says.

"You know you can just wait, my prostate'll just shrink itself," Adam says.

"We need to drain your bladder, I'm sorry, but I have orders-"

"Christ," Adam says. He crosses his arms, stares up at the ceiling. "You might as well get on with it, then," Adam says.

Hank nods and hurries over to the supply closet.

Hank punches the numbers on the keypad, opening the door to Adam's cell. Adam is sitting cross-legged on his bed, reading. Without looking up, Adam asks, "Is it six o'clock already?" Hank nods and pushes the cart into Adam's room.

"How much do you need?" Adam asks.

"Half a liter," Hank says.

"Fine," Adam says. He rolls his sleeve up and holds out his arm. Hank takes out the tourniquet and ties it around Adam's bicep; he swabs Adam's arm with alcohol and pulls back the skin.

"I'm glad you're not fighting anymore," Hank says. "It makes things a lot easier." Hank advances the needle, watching the flush of blood filling up the tube.

Minutes pass in silence. Hank checks the blood bag, pulling the tube line straight so that the blood draws out more quickly. The bag fills and Hank switches to another one, tossing the full bag onto the cart.

"How's the weather?" Adam asks. Hank pulls out a pen and dates and labels the bag.

"It's nice," Hank says. "It's really hot out, nice and sunny. People are walking around in shorts."

"I used to hate the sun," Adam says. "I used to get the most terrible sunburns. And even though they healed quickly it was still a bloody nuisance." Adam chews on his lip, contemplatively. "I still miss it, though," Adam says.

Hank unties the tourniquet and withdraws the needle, the puncture wound sealing itself up. Adam flexes his arm a bit, rubbing the spot.

"Anything tonight?" Adam asks. Hank pulls off his gloves, shaking his head.

"Not that I know of, they have a new subject-another pyro. But they're saying he can generate his own flames, not just manipulate existing ones."

"Well, bully for him, I might actually get some reading done," Adam says.

"I'm glad," Hank says. He stacks the bags up on the cart and throws the needle out into the sharps container. "See you tomorrow."

"Goodnight," Adam says, and Hank leaves the cell; when he looks back through the window, he sees Adam put his book down, closing his eyes.

xXx

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Adam won't stop screaming, so they shove a metal rod down his throat to paralyze his vocal cords. Paralytics won't work on him-his system clears the drugs out too fast-and the pain meds wear off too quickly for the same reason. He writhes on the table, pulling up on the leather straps. The other scientists hold his arms down, dragging the scalpel across his skin.

"It's just a pinch, Adam. Just stay still, it's just a pinch."

Adam screams again, jerking his body away. A scientist shoves Adam's face down, pressing the heel of his hand against Adam's forehead. Hands and arms reach across and Adam's eyes are taped wide open.

"Just look into the light, Adam. Keep looking into the light."

Adam screams as the laser slices into his retina, the blood trickling down the side of his face.

The next day, Hank walks into Adam's cell and sees him curled up on his cot, his hand against his eyes. Adam is sleeping but his body keeps twitching. "Adam? Adam!" Hank puts a hand on Adam's shoulder and shakes him, hard.

Adam startles, awake, a free hand flying up to his eye. "Oh, Jesus..." Adam lowers his hand back down.

Hank sets the clipboard back on the cart. "You okay?" Hank asks.

"Never better," Adam says, and he rolls over back on the cot, turning to face the wall.

xXx

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Hank spends his weekend off working in his garden, and when he comes to work, he brings a small basket of green peppers he shares with his co-workers. Once again, the Company phlebotomist is away on assignment, so Hank loads up his tray and prepares to draw Adam's blood. Hank punches the numbers on the keypad, opening the door. He pushes the cart inside.

"I've got something for you," Hank says. Adam looks up with interest. Hank pulls out a small bundle and unwraps it with a flourish: a twig with a wet paper towel wrapped on the bottom. Adam looks up at him, puzzled.

"It's a twig," Adam says.

"It's a clipping," Hank says. "We have cherry trees in our backyard, I thought I'd go ahead and share." Hank pulls out a small tin can packed with dirt; he unwraps the twig and sticks it into the soil. Adam laughs, delighted.

"You can't be serious," Adam says.

"It'll grow roots, just you wait," Hank says. "We'll just wrap it up with plastic and set it under the light; after about a month or so the root system will be in place."

"Bloody hell, a month?" Adam says. He gets up and starts rummaging through Hank's cart.

"What are you looking for?" Hank asks.

"Those needles-the little ones you test my blood sugar with, where do you keep them?"

"These?" Hank says, and Adam grabs it from Hank's hand. He uncaps the needle and pricks his finger, milking the tip so that the blood begins to bead up. Hurrying back to the plant, Adam squeezes a drop of blood in the soil. The twig begins to straighten; leaves begin to sprout. Hank looks at Adam, shocked.

"There, now we have a proper root system," Adam says. He turns the little soup can over, marveling at his work. "We'll need a bigger pot, though. I don't think the little guy can last in such a small container."

Hank glances up at the security camera, worried: if the Company finds out Adam can heal non-humans, God knows what else they would do to him. Adam catches Hank's look and sets the plant down.

"What?" Adam asks. Hank shakes his head.

"Nothing," Hank says. He pulls out the tourniquet and preps Adam's arm.

Later, Company men barge into Adam's cell and yank him back into the lab. They slam Adam's head against the wall; Hank can practically hear his bones crunching. There's that whisper of a tremor, Adam's body healing itself, when they slam into him again, all for the sake of seeing which fractures take the longest to heal. "They heal at the same rate!" Hank says, but no one listens to him. Blood and bits of hair stick on the wall.

xXx

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After the experiments are over, Hank kneels by Adam's side, checking his pulse. "Your heart rate's up," Hank says, quietly. "You okay?"

"I've seen worse," Adam says. He reaches over to the night stand beside his cot. Hank glances at Adam's hand, and sees that he's trying to reach his plant. Hank takes the plant down and places it close to Adam's face.

"It's blooming," Adam says. Hank turns away.

It's getting dark now, but Hank doesn't shut his blinds; he's too engrossed in his work to notice. He reads the documents, signs and verifies the accuracy of the statements inside: Blunt trauma was performed. Healing was delayed after infusion of organophosphates. Hank sighs and closes the folder. Outside there are sirens, the sounds of cars driving by. The window is like a mirror now, and Hank glances at his reflection: dark eyes and even darker circles, the angles of his face sunken and shadowed. Hank stares for a moment, then stands and shuts the blinds. Across from him, he can see Adam's cell on the security screen, the image flickering silently on the monitor.

xXx

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2.

They push his head underwater. Adam struggles. Two, three minutes pass, and darkness starts to rim the corners of his eyes. Reflexively, Adam's mind throws back to his childhood. He thinks of his mother's hands, the sound of hoof beats and the smell of rain. So this is what it's like, Adam thinks. This is what it's like to die.

Water fills his lungs; it feels like he's being born.

xXx

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They throw him back into his cell. Wet and dripping, Adam pulls his legs up to his chest and leans heavily against the concrete wall. He's not healing. Blood oozes out from underneath his bandages and sweat stings his eyes. Above him, the neon EXIT sign glows softly from outside. Ironic that his window should face the inside corridor of Primatech's lab. Adam sags, lacking the strength to crawl back into his bunk.

The door opens, and a square of light fills the room. Adam blinks his eyes and slowly moves his head. "Who's there?"

"It's Hank." Adam's eyes focus and he sees Hank kneeling beside him. "How are you?"

"I'm not healing," Adam says. "What did they do to me?"

Hank pulls out his stethoscope. He places the bell over Adam's heart.

"They were testing a new protocol," Hank murmurs. He finishes listening, puts the stethoscope over his neck. "They wanted to see if your abilities can be compromised. They reduced the amount of oxygen in your cell, then they pumped your body full of neurotoxins. Your body's overwhelmed. You sustained too many injuries in too short a time, and the toxins in your blood are keeping you from healing. I'm going to give you the antidote now."

Hank puts a tourniquet around Adam's arm and swabs the skin with alcohol. "I told them you could die," Hank says. With his thumb, he pulls Adam's skin taut, then inserts the needle. There's a flush of blood, and the IV goes in smoothly. "It's the only reason they let me see you."

Minutes pass. Adam pulls off a bandage, and he sees the margins of his wounds beginning to close. He closes his eyes as his skin starts to knit back together; he can feel the bruises on his face start to dissipate, the cuts on his arms and hands. His muscles don't ache quite as badly, and Adam hoists himself up on the bunk: he's surprised to see Hank still crouched in the corner, watching.

"You okay?" Hank asks.

"A little better, thank you," Adam says. Hank nods and starts to pack up his equipment. He touches the IV and examines the lines.

"It should take a couple hours," Hank says. "Just make sure this doesn't kink, I'll be back to check on-"

The IV needle pops out of Adam's hand. The skin seals shut, nicely.

"Well I guess we won't be needing that," Hank says. He picks up the needle and stands by the door. "You gonna be alright?" Hank asks.

"I think so," Adam says. "I just need a little rest, is all."

Hank nods. "Good," Hank says. He pauses at the door, then turns. "I'm not supposed to tell you this, but they're planning to withhold your feedings. They want to see if your nutrition status affects your abilities."

Adam rubs his arm, slicks back his still-wet hair. "I'll be sure to hoard my food, then," Adam says.

"I didn't hear that," Hank says, and he closes the door.

The lock clicks into place, and Adam is left crouching on the bunk. His cell is cold. Peeling off his wet T-shirt, Adam curses silently that The Company heads didn't think to provide him dry clothes, and that he didn't think to ask Hank to swipe a pair of scrubs from the men's locker room. This is probably part of the experiment, Adam thinks. He winds the thin blanket around his shoulders and leans against the wall.

xXx

.

The room buzzes. Adam opens his eyes.

"You're next," someone says, and rough hands yank Adam to his feet. He's handcuffed, a taser to his back; The Haitian stands by, watching.

A man in the white lab coat hands him a cup. "We need a sample," the man says.

"I used the toilet already, you'll have to wait," Adams says, and he hands the man the cup.

"We need a semen sample," the man says. He pushes the cup toward Adam's chest.

"Oh. Right," Adam says. He studies the cup, then glances up as the Labcoat Man leaves the room. Adam taps the cup against his thigh, then sits heavily on the bench. If he cooperates, he can be back in his cell quicker. If he cooperates, he'll be back in his room in time for Hank's morning rounds. Hank felt sorry for him; ergo, Hank will probably sneak him alcohol. Bloody good it does me, I can't get drunk anymore, Adam thinks, but it's still something to look forward to.

Like his cell, the room is cold. The walls are gray; the tile floor is white, pristine. He can feel the cold metal of the bench through the seat of his pants; goosebumps prickle his arms.

"Really setting the mood," Adam says, and he sets the cup down.

He wonders briefly why they'd want a semen sample. Maybe Adam's sperm is better than other men's. Maybe they can swim faster. Adam doesn't know. He picks the cup up again, turns it over in his hands. He thinks of the last time anyone's touched him like that. His tenth wife, Trina, had found him standing in the den, turning the pages of an atlas. She didn't know his secret. He was going to tell her-he planned on it, was plotting out the words in his head-when she grabbed him by the shirt and yanked him against her.

Then he was captured. Then they locked him up in the cell.

Someone bangs on the door.

Adam shoves the cup between his legs. "I'm working on it."

They bang louder.

"I said I'm working on it!" Adam says. He can hear them walk away. "God help me..."

His penis is doughy under the fabric of his pants. Adam kneads it roughly, willing for it to stand. "Come on..."

At this point, Adam would rather spend more time at the dunk tank.

Adam stands up; he paces. Absently he bangs the little cup against his leg as he walks. The room is only slightly larger than his cell, except that there's no window, only a bright fluorescent light which buzzes faintly in the background. He's reminded of the mountains, the cold air and the way the sun glinted against the frost-blue horizon. He remembers the sound of tin pans clanging together, the burnt-out smell of fire and charcoal; Yaeko's face as she cooked soup over the flame.

Yaeko. Adam hasn't thought of her for a long time.

Adam sits back on the bench and closes his eyes. He imagines Yaeko sitting by his feet. She would lean against his leg, the wisps of hair touching his armor-

No, he wouldn't be able to feel her hair under the armor. He'd be wearing a robe. It would be cold and they would have to sit close to keep warm.

Adam swallows, tilts his head up. His breathing is strained; his muscles tense. He thinks of Yaeko's eyes, that wide-eyed way she looked at him, the way she felt in his arms. She'd crawl up on his lap, and she'd feel so warm, and she'd kiss him on the mouth, and she'd press up against him, and she'd smell so good, and, and, and, and-

Adam comes, gasping and spurting all over his lap. He fumbles for the cup, trying to aim. His hands are shaking when he scrapes the cup against his legs.

They bang on the door. "You done?"

Adam doesn't answer. The door opens. A shadow falls over Adam's face, and he looks up, sees the Labcoat man's silhouette against the square of light. He snaps on a latex glove and takes Adam's cup.

"This'll do."

Adam is too weak to protest when they lead him back into his cell.

xXx

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Adam is curled up on his cot when Hank enters his cell. Hank sets his bag down. "Christ, what happened?" Hank says. He checks Adam's pulse. "No one told me they were testing you today. Jesus. What'd they do to you?"

Adam watches Hank listlessly as Hank pulls out his stethoscope, starts listening to his heart and lungs. "Deep breath," Hank murmurs, but Adam doesn't breathe. He stares at the floor, his eyes glazed over.

Hank taps Adam's reflex points, looks at Adam's skin for signs of trauma. When he's done, he rocks back on his haunches and examines Adam's face. "What happened to you?" Hank asks.

Adam turns to face the wall. "I had to wank for them," Adam says. He draws his knees up to his chest. He feels like he's going to cry.

Hank folds his hands in his lap. "You okay?" Hank asks.

Adam nods, still not looking at him. "Yeah," Adam says. Hank rummages through his medical bag.

"Here," Hank says, and he pulls out a small tin of saltines. "For when they decide to withhold your food."

Adam still stares at the wall. "I'm rather hoping I'll just starve to death," Adam says.

Hank sighs, then sets the package on top of Adam's night stand.

"Get some rest," Hank says. "It's going to be a long day tomorrow."


End file.
